


You and I, At a Standstill

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, F/F, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Slash, Reunions, Romance, Slow Romance, Touch-Starved, Touching, Trick or Treat 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra comes back to her less than human, but Roberta knows she’s not less of herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I, At a Standstill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/gifts).



> Written for Trick or Treat Exchange for DesertScribe. I went searching through your letters and saw that you ship Roberta/Cassandra, so I went that route. This follows closely to the Season 2 premiere, but you don’t need to have watched it. Hope you like this and Happy Halloween!

They press on despite the radiation filling their bodies, their skin, every part of them that’s remaining. She can’t help but think that with every breath pulled into her lungs, she is pulling poison into her body that will wear her down piece by piece, but Roberta is fucking grateful to be alive and she won’t take any of that for granted. The here and the now, that’s all that matters now.

She glances behind her to prove her point. 10K’s helping Doc walk, but he’s still relatively upright and breathing and _alive._ Thank whoever the hell is up there for small miracles. Roberta nods as 10k reassuringly glances up at her and presses on, leading the way. She won’t think much about the fact that they have no food left, or that they’ll need to take frequent breaks if they don’t want to wear Doc down too much, or that they somehow have to find Murphy.

Or that they left Cassandra behind. That she was alive; well, technically alive. She doesn’t care about that either because it _was_ Cassandra, and they just _left._ Roberta swipes a hand over her face hurriedly and wonders whether to drink the last of her water.

She ends up saving it.

* * *

 

They don’t talk much on the road, in a need to conserve their strength and prevent against further dehydration.

Roberta doesn’t mind the silence, they’ve all been together long enough that it’s not uncomfortable and none of them feel any need to talk about the obvious: that finding Murphy is a _must_ , or the recent past, which Roberta has absolutely no need to talk about.

Besides, there’s enough talking going on inside her head for all three of them.

She prays for Cassandra.

They had such little time together, but she was such a valued member of the group and it’s pitiful how much of an understatement that is. Cassandra was a huge part of helping Roberta come back to herself after Charles’ death, a huge part of Roberta’s reason and motivation to press on and get Murphy to California and save the world.

Except she never told Cassandra any of that, or played on any of her deep-seated feelings, or said goodbye the way she wanted to before Murphy had changed her.

She had a second chance and she wasted that too. She curses herself now for thinking that Cassandra had been turned, changed, made into a monster. She was still _her_ , somewhere deep down. Roberta, acting without thinking, had gotten the three of them the hell out but _not_ her. The excuse had been that there was no time, that Cass was giving them a way out, that _she_ had wanted this. Small, shortsighted explanations.

Roberta’s not much of the praying type and it’s part selfishness that leads her down that path, but she convinces herself that it’s for both of them, that she should pray to see Cassandra again because she won’t screw it up the next time (even though she knows she will) and because she’ll _finally_ be able to tell Cassandra everything without backing down or choking up or putting it off for another day. Their current status of being alive doesn’t help any when she thinks about the literal blood on her hands, Cass’ mangled leg because she couldn’t even protect her from a _fence_ (and the certainty Roberta has that she _will_ get Cassandra killed).

But she still prays. It’s the least she can do for both Cassandra and for her own sanity.

Like she said: _selfishness._

* * *

 

They track Murphy to a bar of all places.

She is so relieved to see him that she forgets her anger for a second. That’s all it takes for Cassandra to come out of nowhere, staring straight through her. Roberta’s intake of air stutters and stops for a heartbeat. Cassandra’s here, Cassandra _found_ Murphy and she almost wants to hug him for looking after her, but then she notices that Murphy has dressed her in some slutty outfit and there’s a feather boa draped around her shoulders and there’s this protective instinct that surges up inside her. Maybe it’s because Cassandra was once forced to dress like this and those memories still gave Cass nightmares and guilt, the ones that Roberta used to witness when she took watch. Maybe it’s because she knows this is not what Cassandra would want, which means that this isn’t Cassandra, not really.

 _No, stop._ She tells herself this without a hint of uncertainty, shoving down the panic and fear and just plain guilt that’s beginning to overwhelm her rationality. _Don_ _’t you start doing this again, Warren. This_ is _Cass. She_ _’s right in front of you. She is_ not _a Z._ She doesn’t get to give up on Cass now, not _ever._

But Cass’ eyes aren’t her own, they are gray and there are flickers of gold in them, making her look not only like a Z but otherworldly too. Roberta would be lying if she said this didn’t chill her bones. Cass might have died and come back from it, cold flesh and decaying skin. How would she feel if Roberta touched her, _when_ she touched her? She hadn’t watched it, but that’s what must have happened: Cass dying, Cass brought back by Murphy without any of them knowing until afterward. She had already _died._  

Those eyes look right through her, no recognition. _No, she_ knew _Murphy._ Knows _Murphy. That_ _’s because he made her._

She goes back and forth just like this, only she a witness to the war raging inside her head. It’s getting to the point where she’s about ready to pull her hair out, to tell everyone to shut up while she figures this out. She can’t lose it again though, can’t lose _herself_ again. Like she did with what happened to Charles.

The floodgates almost open up, almost choke back Roberta’s words, so she vents herself up into a state of anger and irritation. She feels bad that 10k’s the only one who pays much notice to Cassandra, but she can’t deal with her emotions right now and its a horrible cop out but Cassandra also deserves better than what Roberta can give her now, right at this very moment.

She also deserves better than being Murphy’s slave, following him with no thought of herself.

Roberta leads, exactly what she’s supposed to do. She also waits.

* * *

 

That night Roberta takes watch.

Murphy instructs Cassandra to lay beside him and she does, watching him for further instruction even after he rolls away from her and feigns sleep. Roberta stands a good distance away, never taking her eyes off the two of them. If anyone else were awake, her excuse would be not letting Murphy out of her sight ever again. This is the pressing concern, but there are other important issues to deal with, specifically bringing Cassandra back to herself.

So she watches Murphy, out of the corner of her eye, but her eyes are on Cassandra, waiting for her to do something, anything at all.

Even if she looked straight through Roberta again, it would be _something._

She doesn’t wait. “Cassandra?” Murphy stirs but doesn’t turn around, Roberta views this as the only encouragement she’s going to get. It’s enough though, Cass turns around and looks at her, a purposeful, downright _intense_ look in her eyes. She’s protecting Murphy, Roberta knows, because whatever the hell he did to her it tied her to him. It still doesn’t mean a damn thing. She forces herself not to shiver at the power in those eyes, the gold in them more noticeable in the darkness. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up some?”

Cassandra doesn’t move. Just watches her.

“Go on,” Murphy tells her, still not turning. “You’re smellin’ kinda ripe.”

Roberta wants to slap him, but she ends up smiling. Cassandra makes her way hesitantly over to her, t-shirt pulled up and revealing dry, graying skin, but when Roberta reaches out a hand she recoils. Roberta doesn’t push, letting Cassandra stay at her back as they walk over to the river. She seems too skittish to get in, so Roberta settles for filling a bucket and soaking a washcloth in it, wringing it out and lifting it to Cassandra’s dirt-marred arms. “You trust me?”

Cassandra growls, the sound inhuman but all too recognizable. Roberta takes a step back, pant legs soaked with river-water. She stands there and waits, tells herself not to be afraid. Cassandra isn’t one of them, she’s not a Z and she wouldn’t bite her. The words sound more reassuring than the reality however.

The next time she reaches a hand out it’s to her face, washcloth still in her hand. Before she touches her cheek, Cass grabs her hand, fingernails digging into Roberta’s skin and almost drawing blood. Roberta gasps, struggles without thinking for a second but Cass holds her tight, golden eyes watching her intently as if Roberta is her prey. She almost shouts over to Murphy to call her off.

But she isn’t a pet, or a watchdog, or _Murphy_ _’s._

Cass is _her_ responsibility. _Not_ Murphy’s. Murphy may have saved her life, but Roberta’s the one who’s going to bring her back.

She lets Cassandra hold her, lets her press her nose against Roberta’s arm and smell up and down the length of it, lips brushing her skin. Roberta holds herself still and steady, but it’s all she can do not to listen to the instinct screaming inside her head to wrench her arm out of Cassandra’s grip and move backward into the river. The quicker she can do this, the better. “Roberta, Casandra. Remember? Can you say it?” Cassandra licks Roberta’s arm experimentally, but doesn’t look up at her. “Now I know you’re somewhere down in there, Cass.”

Cassandra moves then as if she’s been shocked, gazing up at Roberta with confusion but no less intensity than before. She opens her mouth but all that comes out is a small grunt, as if she’s trying to put words together but can’t. Roberta knows she can talk, like she did with Dr. Merch, knows that if she keeps waiting for it, it’ll happen. It’ll happen sooner or later. Roberta can see the recognition in her eyes now, can see that Cass is trying. So she stands there and waits and tries not to move at all, lest she should startle Cassandra out of her reverie.

A small word. Barely distinguishable as being a word at all.

“Ro.”

Roberta blinks at the word, but then the full extent of what it means erupts inside her and it’s all she can do not to wrap her arms around her. Instead she catches Cassandra’s unfocused gaze and smiles reassuringly. Cassandra doesn’t smile back, but there’s something in her eyes that leads to her releasing Roberta’s arm and causes Roberta to take a step closer, just one, just to remove the feather boa from around her neck. 

Cassandra lets her. She also allows Roberta to pick up the washcloth and clean out the gouges in Cassandra’s wrists. She makes sure to be extra gentle with Cass, taking her time to find her again under all the dirt and blood and confusion. 

* * *

 

_Talking. Bodies around me, swaying. Walking. Always walking. Searching for something._

_Murphy. Murphy is there. Right there. He needs me._

_Follow Murphy._

_Hands reaching, touching, touching me. Cold hands. Soft skin._

“…down in there, Cass.”

_Something opening. Somewhere familiar. Big eyes, dark skin, long, dark hair._

_Roberta._

_Know it. Know her. Not Murphy, not like Murphy but Murphy knows. Murphy trusts._

_I trust._

* * *

 

_Ro._

Cassandra starts saying her name back and forth, throughout the days, beckoning Roberta ever closer. She still sticks close to Murphy for the most part, and always retreats to his side when Murphy whistles at her, says ‘hey!’ or does something else to grab her attention. There will always be that connection between the two of them and Roberta doesn’t begrudge them for that. She figures that Murphy was alone for so long and that Cassandra was a way to fill the void.

She also wonders if Cass asked for this, to be _this_ instead of face death, but it’s not her place to ask Murphy and it’s not her place to know until Cass is ready to tell her about it. If she even remembers it at all.

Cassandra always sleeps next to Murphy, but she sleeps better when Roberta’s near her, steady eyes always holding Cass for as long as she wants, for as long as she’ll have her. Sometimes she’ll take hold of Roberta’s arm in one of her hands and hold it while she walks, or when she’s scared or unsure about something. She’ll sniff Roberta’s skin and lick the underside of her arm or the back of her neck, her hand brushing Roberta’s hair away first and always letting her know, but she will never open her mouth and she will never bite down.

She is still Cass, somewhere down in there. Somewhere reachable.

“Ro.”

And all Roberta can think is: _Cass. My Cass._

She catches Cass’ golden eyes and holds them. Cassandra takes her arm, a grin in her eye, and holds back.

**FIN**


End file.
